


Silent Lucidity

by Adastreia (NearDeathMetalJen)



Series: A Series in Which I Will NOT be Semirhage to Logain/Mazrim! [1]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 09:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16426367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NearDeathMetalJen/pseuds/Adastreia
Summary: The Last Battle has been won, and Logain Ablar has a secret. A one-shot in which Logain cannot hold his ale, Mazrim Taim is forced to babysit, and Asha'man Mishraile is a budding gleeman with a penchant for epic love stories.





	Silent Lucidity

**Author's Note:**

> Well...it seems that my W-I-P Logain/Mazrim full-length has been shattering everyone's hearts (including my own!), so I decided to write several fluffy one-shots in order to balance out all the tragedy. This one is for my reviewers, bloodylullabies and quiet_wraith; hopefully it'll cheer you up a bit after my Semirhage-worthy treatment of the couple in "Take the Devil in Me." This is my first attempt at fluff and not representative of my usual writing style (I generally write very dramatic and/or tragic stories), and it is utterly ridiculous, so bear with me. (I should add as a disclaimer that I am _saidin_ -tainted levels of insane.)

"Taim...I have a secret."

Mazrim Taim turned to arch an eyebrow at the broad-shouldered lush beside him. Logain had had a very formidable total of _three goblets of ale,_ and already he'd regaled the tavern with several bawdy songs, tossed his coat into the scandalized crowd (it had landed on the innkeeper's cat, who thus far seemed thoroughly unimpressed by the drunken Asha'man's display, if its enraged hisses were any indication), and corrected the unfortunate gleeman so many times that the aging bard had removed himself from the premises in high dudgeon ("this is one establishment that has seen the last of my patronage!"). The Saldaean eyed Logain askance. Though he'd come to regard the man with respect and even affection, he wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with any awkward drunken confessions just yet.

"Taim," Logain repeated loudly. Taim's eyebrows climbed his forehead, and he sighed. Well, it seemed that, short of knocking the flaming drunkard unconscious, he'd have to suffer through whatever the man had to say. He hoped it would not be another story about his brother, and the two brothel women; _that_ tale had been ribald enough to shock even his liberal Saldaean sensibilities. Taim regarded Logain warily; best to just get this over with, and with any luck, the man would pass out and forget everything he'd said.

"All right, Ablar, what - "

At that moment, a slender, golden-haired man sidled up to their table. Mishraile. Taim let out an aggrieved sigh. The rather foppish young Asha'man had taken to materializing nearby every time Taim went out in public. He'd proven himself in the Last Battle, and impressed the M'Hael with his loyalty, but Light! Atal Mishraile had no regard for personal space. The pretty youth flashed a dazzling, white-toothed smile at Taim, with not a glance in Logain's direction. Taim was on the verge of telling Asha'man Mishraile to go away, in no uncertain terms, when he noticed the lute. 

It was an exquisite instrument - where in the Light had Mishraile come by such a thing? - and its rich red wood was polished to a high sheen. For the first time, Taim looked at Mishraile - really _looked._

"A _gleeman?"_ Logain said loudly. He chuckled, reaching out to pluck at Mishraile's abundantly patched cloak. It was indeed gleeman's garb, though it looked nothing like the clothing the other man had worn. Taim eyed the garment dubiously. Were those... _hearts_ embroidered on the colored patches of fabric? He raised his gaze to Mishraile. The young man was beaming, and clearly immensely pleased with himself.

"Ah...." Taim said, and trailed off. For once, the M'Hael was at a loss for words. He spread his hands in a slightly wry, deprecating gesture, then glanced at Logain for help. The fool man was staring at Mishraile's cloak with an expression of wonder on his face, and Taim was seriously considering getting up and leaving Logain to find his own way home when Atal Mishraile's words stopped him cold.

"Well, you see, in the wake of...well, in the wake of Tarmon Gai'don," Mishraile said quietly, "I thought that everyone could use some levity as they go about rebuilding their lives." Taim grunted in reluctant acknowledgement of the man's words. But Mishraile was not done. "Well, many of the gleemen seemed to have the same idea, and I wanted to be...well, different. So...." He brandished his lute proudly. "I am the bard of romance!" 

Taim stared at him with what he was sure must be an expression of decidedly unflattering disbelief. "It's my gimmick, you see," Mishraile went on, oblivious to the M'Hael's disgusted look. "I'm a gleeman who tells epic stories of love." He cast a significant, heavy-lidded gaze at Taim, and the M'Hael froze. _Oh._ Frantically, he glanced about for a serving woman, but they all seemed to be avoiding his table (Logain had gotten a bit, well, cheeky earlier that night). He was searching for a graceful way to extricate himself from the situation when Logain barked a laugh.

"You're in love with Taim!" he declared with a broad grin. He clapped the budding gleeman on the back with a wicked smirk, and Mishraile nearly buckled under the weight. "Well, that certainly explains a lot." The look Atal Mishraile shot him then could have seared a hole into the Pattern itself, but Logain continued, oblivious, "Well, then! Go sing us something." 

Taim glared at Logain - _please shut up, Ablar_ \- but it was too late. Mishraile had already sauntered to the center of the crowded tavern. At the sight of his vibrant gleeman's cloak, silence descended upon the room.

 _Trolloc balls,_ Taim thought miserably.

"This is a tale of romance, and triumph in the wake of tragedy," Mishraile intoned solemnly. He locked eyes with Taim, and his gaze practically smoldered. Taim rolled his eyes to the ceiling and made a deliberate examination of the high wooden rafters. "It is the tale of a bold, ambitious leader, and his quest for redemption. And it is the tale of the sensitive young musician who dared to love him." With a flourish, Atal Mishraile drew his lute to his chest and began to strum.

Taim seized the nearest man's goblet and downed it in one gulp. This was going to be a long night....

\---

"Well, that was...quite the performance," Logain said, slurring his words slightly. He stumbled, and Taim reached out to grasp the other man's arm in a firm, steadying grip. Logain glanced down at Taim's hand, then raised a questioning eyebrow. Taim drew back quickly. The taller man had paused to regard him, and though his face was rather flushed and his dark brown eyes bloodshot from drink, he appeared otherwise remarkably lucid.

"Taim," he said. "I was thinking - "

"We should get you back to the Tower," Taim interrupted quickly. Really, this was too much. He was the M'Hael, for Light's sake! The M'Hael of the Black Tower should not be saddled with the task of...of babysitting! It was _unseemly._ Logain had begun to eye him uncertainly. A stray lock of curling dark hair tumbled into his face. Without thinking, Taim reached out and brushed it back from Logain's forehead.

"Mazrim," Logain began again, and Taim's eyes widened in astonishment. _Mazrim?_ "Come back to my house tonight." At the look of shock on the M'Hael's face, Logain added, "You shouldn't be alone in that bloody fortress right now, Mazrim. Too many memories." His face had taken on a dark cast, and Taim grimaced. It was true; if he was to be perfectly honest with himself, he'd been dreading his return to the cold, foreboding palace he'd taken as his own. Light, it was the reason he'd begun carousing in taverns with Logain in the first place! But the way Logain was looking at him....

"What do you want from me, Ablar?" he asked at last.

Logain regarded him in silence for several moments. Then, in the abrupt manner that Taim had come to associate with foolish drunkards, Logain announced, "I don't like that coat, Taim."

Taim shot him an affronted glare. "What's wrong with it?" he demanded stiffly.

"It's those bloody dragons," Logain muttered. "Didn't anyone ever tell you how ridiculous they look?" At Taim's startled expression, he let out a low, warm chuckle. The sound was oddly comforting, acting like a balm to Taim's frayed nerves. But Logain's next words stopped him cold. "Why are you afraid to be your own man?"

Taim's mouth worked silently for a moment, and then he snapped, "I beg your pardon?" 

"Mazrim, Tarmon Gai'don is over. We made it. We have the chance to rebuild the Black Tower, to turn it into something great, and here you are, parading yourself about with those ludicrously embroidered dragons on your sleeves," Logain said patiently. Light, how did he manage to sound so sensible all of a sudden? Taim became uncomfortably aware of how ostentatious the pattern was, and he scowled down at his arms. At that moment, a wave of crushing self-disgust crashed over him, and he ripped at his coat in one sharp, angry movement. The arm caught, and he began to thrash furiously. It was like something had broken inside of him. Suddenly, he hated that coat, with its gaudy blue-and-gold sleeves, hated it with a lancing fury. 

"Mazrim." Logain took Taim by the shoulders and shook him lightly. The M'Hael was breathing hard. Suddenly, shudders overtook him, and before he knew quite what he was doing, he found himself grasping onto Logain as though only the other man's embrace could keep him tethered to this world. Logain held Taim without speaking until his tremors had subsided. 

At last, Taim took a step back. He stared at Logain, at the compassion and understanding in the man's eyes, and he began to tremble again - but this time, it wasn't from desolation.

"What is this, Abl - Logain?" he said hoarsely, in a rare burst of self-consciousness. 

"I have no bloody idea," Logain muttered, and without giving the other man a chance to reply, melded his lips to Taim's. For a moment, Taim just stood there, eyes wide and shocked. Then a sense of urgency overtook him, and before he knew quite what he was doing, he found himself thoroughly returning the kiss. He could smell the slight spice of ale on Logain's breath, and for a moment he worried that this was only a result of insane drunkenness on the other man's part. Surely Logain would regret this in the morning. But in that moment, he realized he didn't care. They'd survived. Somehow, against all odds, they'd survived. Whatever tomorrow might bring, this nights was theirs.


End file.
